He has my heart. L.s.

4

HARRY'S P.O.V

Sundays are usually easy, Dad usually doesn't drink he just works outside around the house. He still hates me and stuff but what can you do? Did you know I have a sister? Yeah she's the eldest her name is Gemma she comes home from uni on Sundays. She's the favorite 'cause she's straight and smart and just perfect.

It's funny though 'cause my dad was never abusive when I was younger, not from what I saw. I mean I still had the sense that he hated me. Like it was more he was trying to push me to be a normal boy.
He signed me up for football once, I absolutely hated every minuet of it, so I quit. Oh man was he livid. Then it was basketball, I sucked at that too.
Then it was track, I wasn't horrible at it but I didn't enjoy it.

Dad kept pushing sports on me, except all I wanted to do was curl up and read. I loved watching movies and writing. I guess that's why Dad thought I wasn't acting like a boy. I loved to sing and entertain people, which in my Dad's eyes if aren't successful with it you have to be gay. I'm outside on my porch enjoying the sunny day. I'm writing my paper and waiting for my sister to arrive. My sister and I are close, and when she's here my Dad is considerably nice to us. Again she's the favorite.

Dad walks up the stairs a cigarette between his lips.
He takes it out looking at me and then at the cancer stick. He makes a grunt noise.

"You know, this cigarette reminds me of you," he says his eyes squinting at me. I stare blankly at him. I try not to move, my ribs still hurt like hell and I keep spitting up blood in the sink. "You have something in common with this weed."

The fact he still calls it "weed" back in like the 50s a cigarette was called a weed. Not like pot but weed I'm not sure. I guess his Dad, my grandfather, called it a weed.

"You and this weed are both fags."

I sigh and continue writing ignoring him. Yes the old times word for a cigarette was fag, but no one really uses it anymore. A slick black car pulls into the driveway making my Dad and I look toward it.
Gemma gets out smiling brightly at us.

"Boy what are waiting for be a gentleman and go help get her bags." He snaps. Oh God this will hurt like a mother fucker.

I get up, painfully, and walk to my sister. I hug her quickly hiding my pain. I help her with her bags, damn these things are heavy. She runs off to hug sperm donar. Then she runs in to find Mum. Dad gives me a disgusted look with how I'm stuggling with these bags. It's not my fault. I didn't even know she was on holiday and was staying. Most likely only a few days two at the most.

I'm struggling 'cause honestly something doesn't feel right, something is wrong with me and my ribs.
I don't know what. I set Gem's stuff in the parlor and join my family in the kitchen. My phone dings scaring me a little.

Nialler: Be there in ten. Dress nicely we are going to a party.

I groan subtly leaving the kitchen and going to my room. I'm in pain I don't want to party, or hook up or any of that shit. I pull on an Arctic Monkeys shirt with a pair of navy blue skinny jeans. I lace up my white converses. I don't give give a shit if I match. I don't bother with bracelets since my shirt it long sleeved. I run my fingers through my curls deciding I look fine. I make my way down the stairs, about half way down I stop gripping my sides. Better take some pain meds.

Fianlly I reach the kitchen right as I swallow the pills I had to go back up stairs for. Mum looks at me confused. "I'm going to hang out with Niall."

Mum nods. Gem smiles hugging me, I wince slightly. Dad just grumbles something under his breath. Finally there is a honk and I walk out toward Niall's car. I plop in the seat buckling in.